


still we rise

by poetrics



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Poetry, Team Bonding, vague spoiler for end of s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrics/pseuds/poetrics
Summary: Pidge remembers something her father read to her.





	

For the most part, they managed to keep their chins up.

They each had their own ways of coping, of course, different parts of the castle they each disappeared to when it all became too much. Hunk threw himself into new culinary creations, Keith into the fighting simulator, Shiro trained, and Lance… well, Lance was a toss up. Pidge usually bent all her thoughts into her tablet. One evening she stalked through the hallways instead and overheard a sorrowful “they’re practically children” that left her bristling, but she still managed to chirp “hello, Princess!” at the dinner table not an hour later. Hunk grinned as he brandished his latest concoction, Lance commenced his usual flirtatious antics, and Shiro rolled his eyes while Keith made a disgusted noise.

They did their best.

Other times they had to catch themselves. Moping around wouldn’t help them or save the universe, as Shiro once said with half his exasperation misdirected inward, so they did their best to avoid getting caught in those spirals. Besides, they had plenty to do and fall back on. Even bickering, mundane and ridiculous as it might be, was better than the alternative. Most of the time it pulled them back around to their own version of normalcy.

Then there were the days that clung to them, dragging at their limbs like sopping, leaden clothing. They were all young; they held the fate of the universe in hands still barely trained to handle it. There were meals where hardly a word was spoken. They passed each other in the halls, eyes weighty with words that bunched up in dry throats. Too much, too much, and they weren’t- couldn’t-

“Paladins,” Allura started from the head of the table, then faltered. Only Shiro’s gaze flicked to her.

“Princess.” Coran’s voice was soft, and she sat without another word.

The silence multiplied, filling up the spaces between them and making the air unbearable to breathe. Still, they ate. They had to.

“My dad-”

Pidge’s first attempt was scratchy, but six heads swiveled to her nonetheless. She cleared her throat and tried again. “My dad used to read poems to me and Matt before bed. All sorts of stuff. I wasn’t all that big on it myself, but, you know, some of that sticks with you? The important ones.” She’d been staring at her food, pushing it around on her plate, but she straightened her glasses and her spine self-consciously before looking at Allura. “There’s one that- I wish I could remember it better, but I think you’d really like it, Princess. I- jeez, the only thing I remember about it is that the line is like, ‘I rise.’”

“Still I Rise, by Maya Angelou.” At the incredulous looks, Keith shrugged, almost forceful in his nonchalance. “What? I read.”

“Yeah yeah yeah!” Hunk said, eyes lighting up. “That’s a good one, it’s- I mean it’s kind of like the whole Galra thing?” He took a moment to consider, but the ins and outs of human racism were probably best left to another day. “It’s a message of like, determination and freedom- something about moons and tides and stuff, uh- ‘just like hopes springing high, still I’ll rise.’” 

“Did you want to see me broken?” The question sounded genuine and for a moment, Hunk was the only person who didn’t look immediately concerned. Lance huffed a breath, eyes on his plate, and continued. “Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops-”

Lance’s recitation wasn’t perfect- he fumbled lines, and skipped entire stanzas, and for the first half he was mostly delivering to the food goo- but his voice held a measure of reverence that was rare to hear from him. As he gained momentum without anyone interrupting or mocking him, he lifted his eyes and let more emotion seep into the words. The room was breathless.

“I rise. I rise. I rise.”

Still no one breathed and Lance was the first to crack the silence again, hand running nervously through his hair. “Bi Cuban kid in America, it- that one meant a lot to me.”

“That was beautiful.” Allura’s voice thrummed with sincerity and her own emotions. “Thank you, Lance. Thank you, all of you. Paladins, Coran-”

There was a moment they had all become accustomed to- could spot with their eyes closed- and that was the moment Allura’s tone shifted and they knew they were about to receive a speech. Royalty that she was, her words were always carefully chosen to invigorate and inspire, but the moment now was even more electric; it crackled along their spines.

“I am so sorry that you’ve been thrown into this with hardly a choice in the matter, but I am eternally grateful that you are Voltron’s paladins. You _are_ the dreams and hopes of every world that Zarkon has enslaved. I know it is a difficult burden to bear, but let this become your mantra. You will be successful, you must, and in time the universe will rise. _We_ will rise.”

The atmosphere didn’t lighten, per se, but they talked through the rest of their meal. Lance tracked down Pidge afterwards, looking unusually shifty, but before she could question him he had tossed his arms around her.

Oh. A hug. She reached around him and squeezed.

“Thanks,” he muttered into the top of her head. “For reminding me.”

What else could she say? “We will rise.”

Lance nodded furiously, nearly bruising his chin on her skull, and if she felt teardrops on her scalp she wasn’t going to say anything.

The phrase stuck, as a reassurance and as a promise. In quiet moments, in heated ones, as a near-blessing over their food, as a good night. Shiro said it with a hand clasped firmly on Hunk’s shoulder. Pidge bit it out mid-battle. Coran spoke it as a benediction. Lance whispered it into his pillow. There were tears and nightmares and injuries and terrors to face, but-

The seat was empty. 

They had fractured before and not broken.

_We will rise._

**Author's Note:**

> lots of fighting against fascists this weekend. my heart is heavy and this was the result. yell with me on twitter [@_poetrics](http://www.twitter.com/_poetrics)


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